


Sour Negotiations

by poorbasil



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Blood, Dubious Consent, M/M, Rare Pairings, if you are squirmish don't read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-11
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-04-08 21:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4321023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poorbasil/pseuds/poorbasil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hewlett tries to negotiate with Simcoe one night, because honestly, these two are like overgrown children and need to sort out their issues. (aka the story nobody wanted that I needed to write.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sour Negotiations

**Author's Note:**

> An idea I had after watching the "reunion" between Simcoe and Hewlett in Providence.

Simcoe was undressing in his temporary bedroom when he heard a creek, door hinges straining as the wooden mass was pried opened.

There was no knock.

How rude.

Simcoe turned to look at the intruder and grinned.

"Ah, Major, to what do I owe this unexpected gracing of your presence?"

Hewlett glided out of the door frame, closing it gently behind him though as to not disturb anyone. His arms were crossed with determination over his chest, body still clothed in full royal uniform. A scowl was transfixed his face.

The Major was in no mood for small talk it seemed. Pity.

"This madness can continue no longer, Simcoe," Major Hewlett exclaimed firmly. "For two royal officers to continually act in such a dishonorable manner is intolerable."

His eyes narrowed pointedly at Simcoe, the crease between his brows deepened as his glare intensified.

"Now, let us settle this like respectable gentlemen and negotiate, rather than futilely skirting across the issue."

Simcoe inched a little closer to his bed side dresser. He felt rather underdressed to this improv engagement in his simple flowing night wear, while the Major made a dashing appearance in his polished suit and immaculate wig. However, like verbal decorum, dress was only a formality; lack of embellished garments would not impeded the meaning of his words.

"I was under the impression negotiations were, off the table," Simcoe countered, adopting a flippant tone which he believed worked on further enrage the Major. His eyes were now locked with Hewlett's and he thought he could see the man's pupils frying with the intensity of his glare.

"Besides," he said loftily, "there's no need for negotiations. My men and I are scheduled to make way for New Jersey very soon. But rest assured Major, we will return per say Major Andre's orders after our endeavor is accomplished."

Hewlett fumed silently, expression barely shifting, but Simcoe knew better than to think the man wasn't internally exploding. He assumed a self-satisfied leer at the thought.

A few moments passed in silence between the foes, two sets of eyes locked in piercing glares, both as intense as the other, conveying the words that were not said.

"However," Simcoe continued, "if an agreement were to be attempted, such an accord would come with provisions of which I'm not quite sure I will like."

Hewlett refrained from rolling his eyes, "What would need to be done for you _to_ like it, Captain?"

He wasn't giving up so easily, but he was no fool. He knew getting rid of Simcoe was a desire of the highest degree, one which Simcoe would without a doubt abuse to his utmost potential in the form of ridiculous requests both men knew would never come to be. He was willing to make some concessions, but he would not back down on his goal. If Hewlett wasn't a man of manners, he'd have shot the pasty bastard point blank the moment he reappeared in Mrs. Strong's tavern, holding her in his arms and consoling her with his disgustingly fictitious words.

The man had some nerve, but that didn't mean Hewlett couldn't be as devious as well. Upon the moment he left the tavern, Anna trembling on his arm, he vowed to liberate Setauket from that monster in disguise. He'd already began to format an alternative plan if confrontation proved as ineffective as he suspected it would. But he would try the civil route first, although Simcoe had never shown any signs of deserving it.

Hewlett lowered his right hand down to rest tensely on the butt of his gun, half to alert Simcoe to the extra presence of a weapon, half to reassure himself; he wouldn't dare venture into Simcoe's private, albeit commandeered territory, empty handed.

"I wouldn't be opposed," Simcoe drawled, "if a word was made regarding the reinstatement of my previous commission. While I do find enjoyment in shaping the mannerisms of vagabonds, I prefer to work with civilized men."

"Civilized!" Hewlett huffed, "What would you know of a civil man's customs?"

"That was quiet rude, Major. One should refrain from making assumptions based on anything less than facts."

"And I'm guessing you are the one who deems truths as facts."

"Only when concerning myself."

"Of course."

Hewlett shuffled uncomfortably, his jacket rustling with the movement. He wasn't sure how to proceed in this uncharted area. How preposterous this situation was, to think he could navigate a suitable solution with a man so unaccustomed to compromise.

Men like Simcoe were the spawn of the military. Liars and cheats, how zealous and contemptible! Vile scum with no motivation towards a greater good save for their own desire to satisfy nefarious needs. Hewlett would pity a man like Simcoe if he wasn't so utterly loathsome in character. Deranged, that man was.

He shouldn't have bothered with confrontation, it was just making him look weak and incompetent in securing what he wanted.

"You know I cannot, and will not, do such a thing. Men do not deserve gracious favors for naught, especially a man like you."

"Then we are decided," Simcoe spoke, an air of finality in his words.

_Dammit_ , this wasn't working at all. He needed to try a new tactic, a different approach. His plan B was a great deal more lucrative, and not to mention risky, than a face to face confrontation, no matter how stubborn Simcoe was. He would give this his all first.

Hewlett walked gingerly to Simcoe, not so close as to intrude on his personal space, but far too close for either of their liking.

"Perhaps such a proposal could be arranged," he tried.

"Now we are negotiating, Major. See, not as hard as you presumed. Really, it mustn't be very healthy for you to continue on living in your own self-made illusions." Simcoe relished in the scowl his words produced on Hewlett's face.

This wasn't enough. Hewlett knew Simcoe would not be content with just the Major's word as it was. The chance that even Hewlett's erudite and professional manner could sway anyone to return Simcoe to his original position and pay was practically nonexistent and they both knew it.

It was a test then. Simcoe was just jesting with him, trying to make him crack, to shatter his moral ideals and succumb to his personal desires.

Well, Hewlett wasn't very fond of games, and he certainly held no desire to entertain Simcoe in his own.

"What do you really want, Simcoe?" words gridded out from between his teeth. It felt like betrayal to even say, and he knew Simcoe was enjoying his discomfort immensely.

"I'm afraid you cannot provide that for me, my dear Edmund."

Oh, that cheeky sod.

"I cannot make Anna Strong change her feelings, even if I wished for her to do so."

"Precisely my point."

"Although, I am afraid of a misunderstanding, Captain. While I do hold dear my affections for Mrs. Strong, she is purely my close friend."

Simcoe took a second to process what the Major admitted.

_So they aren't truly in a courtship as Mrs. Strong had led me to believe, although, from the way the Major spoke, he obviously yearned for more._

_Interesting._

"Alas," Hewlett continued, "if you dare lay an unwanted finger on her, there will be no laughing when it's your head around that noose."

"Touchy are we, Major. Don't fret yourself, I have no intention of upsetting Mrs. Strong."

Hewlett snorted at that.

They lapsed into silence for a moment, Hewlett recollecting his thoughts.

"Have you ever been in love, Simcoe?"

A pause, Simcoe was slightly taken aback by Hewlett's blunt words.

"Wouldn't you like to know."

The Major ignored him.

"It is a peculiar sensation," Hewlett began, "one that cannot compare to any other. To be so captivated as to be rendered speechless upon gazing the subject of your desire. It is a feeling synonymous with none, for no sentiment can be as strong, as passionate, except hate perhaps. Hate is just as strong, just as passionate. Enough of it can take over one's senses, drive a sane man mad."

Both are not to be spoken lightly, so be assured, Captain Simcoe, when I say this: I can love, and I can hate, and I have blindly yet willingly allowed myself to be entrenched far deep in both."

He had moved closer to Simcoe while delivering his monologue without actually processing the movement. His hand still rested tensely on his gun, the other played distractedly with his jacket hem, fingering one of the bottom buttons absentmindedly.

He shifted.

Simcoe stood back up against the small space between the dresser and the bed.

A flicker shined below Hewlett's eyes for a millisecond; not even noticeable if he hadn't lowered his gaze away from Simcoe's eyes to stare blankly at his chest.

In a hasty gesture, Hewlett's hand darted out, seizing onto the other's arm.

"Play nicely in your own games, Simcoe. It isn't polite to cheat."

Hewlett lifted the man's arm, revealing a small knife which Simcoe had been concealing within his robes.

"Forgive me, Major, but I didn't know we had established rules," Simcoe drawled, voice as steady as ever.

"I would have thought you'd be the type to have them memorized," Hewlett countered, his grip tightening around Simcoe's arm, fingers crawling up to clasp around the man's wrist.

"Ah, there you go again, making assumptions about things you do not know. My, my, Major Hewlett. God only knows how you've managed to obtain a position such as yours with an attitude like that."

"At least I've managed to keep it," Hewlett growled, fingers now digging into the other man's, both quietly fighting a struggle for dominance of the knife handle.

"If I may suggest, Captain, it would be in your best interest to release your hand before I arrest you for aggressive behavior towards a superior officer."

The threat, of course, fell flat. Simcoe was not intimidated by possible imprisonment, rather, he found it endearing.

Hewlett was staring at Simcoe again now, their bodies closer than comfortable, reminding Hewlett of the last time they were this close.

He blinked away those memories. He had the upper hand now. Simcoe could not take advantage of him as he did before.

The concentration was palpable in Simcoe's eyes. Perhaps this was why he neglected to notice the subtle shift of the Hewlett's body until an elbow came crashing into him, knocking him square in the chest.

Hewlett deftly pried off Simcoe's slackened fingers, securing his own onto the handle of the knife as the other man tried to regain his lost grip.

Simcoe shoved Hewlett in his side, right hand reaching swiftly around Hewlett's waist where his gun was holstered and jacked the weapon free.

The men now stood a few feet apart in mock dueling positions, the wood floor creaking from their abrupt encounter. Hewlett had regained his balance. He held the knife, blade aimed at Simcoe's chest towards the spot where he wished he could have struck the man during their first physical escapade.

Simcoe cocked back the gun with ease, targeting the confiscated weapon at its owner. His hair had slipped out of his queue in the scuffle, a curly tangle sweeping across his face, partially covering one side as shadows played in the hallows of his cheeks, the whole picture making a frightening sight.

"So, here we are. How civil indeed."

Hewlett didn't acknowledge the other's words, maybe for a lack of a proper response.

A beat. Then a lunge.

Hewlett slide down onto the floor, clothed knee caps skidding across the wood, his reach extending outwards toward Simcoe's leg, pulling the limb out from under him.

A thud resounded as Simcoe lost his balance and toppled down, body sliding back against the wall. The small knife was trusted into his lower leg. Hewlett climbed over him to trap his flailing arms, pushing the fallen gun aside, barrel pointing underneath the bed. His leg tingled. Blood from Simcoe's wound soaked through the creamy white material of his stockings as their legs knocked together.

Hewlett used his weight to pin the other down, their legs entwined as both men pushed in opposite directions, his boots pressed hard into the other's naked legs in an effort to keep him grounded.

A breath.

Two.

Three.

The silent struggle continued.

Then, in a whirl of movement, Simcoe detached his body from under Hewlett. The motion pushed Hewlett up, their legs tangling together again as his back hit the bed frame. The gun had been pushed further under the bed, away from either man's reach.

Simcoe used his free hand to remove the knife from his throbbing leg. He shoved Hewlett into the bed frame, the Major's shoulders bumping up against the soft plush of mattress. Simcoe was practically sitting on him, bloody leg wrapped around his lower back as the thick liquid oozed through the his clothes, enticing a shiver.

How entirely compromising they must have appeared.

Simcoe silently brought the knife up to the juncture between Hewlett's neck and right shoulder, his other hand pushed him back into the frame to stop him from squirming. He released a steamy breath on Hewlett's face. He would not give into impulse, the yearning to brutally murder the man so precariously positioned in front of him would not overcome his sense of reason. Simcoe was a man of many things, but he wouldn't risk jeopardizing his only chance of rising out of this madness alive by killing the Major in cold blood with others not far around.

Rather, he would play the game.

He dangled the knife above Hewlett's right shoulder for a second before he brought it down, hacking through the shield of fabric protecting Hewlett, freeing his sweaty skin from its only barrier.

_What a hassle this will be to repair_ , Hewlett thought briefly.

"Move, and I won't hesitate to impale your heart," Simcoe said lightly in his signature singsong voice.

Hewlett remained still, what else was he to do anyway, compromised as he was.

"Now, give me a reason to not push forth." He drifted the knife loosely over Hewlett's skin to emphasize the subject of his inquiry.

Hewlett didn't respond. It wasn't necessary. He knew just as Simcoe did that nothing he could say would make the man change his mind.

He held back a whine, feeling the harsh sting of metal, blade coated in the viscous liquid from Simcoe's leg. It pressed gently into his barred skin, point spearing his flesh ever so slightly. Not enough to breath the skin, but the pressure caused an ache to ripple through the already tense muscle.

"Nothing to say?" Simcoe mocked, fully enunciating each word as if speaking to a child. "Could I assume that you are rendered, _speechless_ , in my presence?

Consumed and blinded by a peculiar sensation?"

The blade was driven in a little harder.

"Is it love, or hate?"

Blood broke free, bubbling over the otherwise smooth plane of Hewlett's shoulder.

Simcoe dragged the blade across slowly, pressure constant, watching as red spouted out from the linear incision. Up past the juncture of his neck, their blood mixing together on Hewlett's skin as a delicate path was marked past his ear lobe.

The metal graced his temple, blood smearing into the little hairs peeking out from his wig, the dark pigment messy, a stark contrast with his pristine powdered hair.

Down to his cheek now, length of the blade puncturing the soft flesh in a slender stripe before it rested flat against the wound, caressing the injury whilst plastering blood over the surrounding skin.

A consecration preformed in the devil's ink.

Hewlett sucked in a breath, trying not to react to the sharp twinge of pain that was being inflicted upon him.

He wasn't scared now. Anything Simcoe would do couldn't be worse than the frigid weeks he spent suffering in that barren prison, where the stars were his only comfort in the unforgiving night. Nothing Simcoe could do would be as unbearable as that prolonged isolation he had oh so recently endured, with only memories to serve as a conversation partner.

High on his forehead, a straight line cut into the flat skin. Hewlett felt drops slithering down from the cut, threatening to fall to his eyes just as knife began scrapping up the blood from the lengthy wound, collecting it, then smearing it all over his hairline.

He closed his eyes and barred his teeth, mind barely registering the cool patch of skin tingling, now unfettered by the knife's blade.

When his eyes fluttered open, he saw Simcoe looking at the place where his knife recently vacated. A messy streak of crimson from head to shoulder, staining bright on Hewlett's pale skin, glistening eerily under the sliver of moonlight peeking through the closed curtains.

"I must say, red really does suit you," Simcoe breathed out in a low voice, and Hewlett knew he wasn't just talking about his coat.

Simcoe carefully lodged the knife in the space between the mattress and the bed frame, hilt facing up. He would prefer to refrain from ruining Anna's room too excessively.

His hand tracked blood as it glided down across the frame to rest on Hewlett's neck, hot palm against wet skin, blood smearing further, aggravating the wound. His fingers crept loosely into the hole of ripped fabric, uncurling once they disappeared inside the ruined garment.

The sound of fabric stretching past its seams was audible as Simcoe's hand slid deeper down the opening.

He pressed into the soft flesh of Hewlett's shoulder blade, calloused finger pads gently working the muscle under the skin.

Hewlett's hands lay useless behind his back. He had tried to reach for the gun to no avail. Instead, he surrendered his free will to Simcoe's ministrations, not knowing where to look, not wanting to meet Simcoe's eyes. He opted to focus on the man's neck, eyes intensely studying the subtle fluctuations under his skin.

Simcoe's massaged the tight muscle thoroughly with more force now, the sensation not entirely unpleasant.

He kneaded a knot with his knuckles and Hewlett let out a sigh.

"Ahh," he moaned softly, tension easing from his shoulder. Despite the bleeding cuts, he felt relaxed. It was an odd sensation and he knew it wasn't right, but what was there to do? Trapped as he was, Simcoe's legs wrapped around his lower back, with the knife still close by. He was entirely compromised.

Hewlett resigned to letting Simcoe continue, his head falling back against the bed, useless, eyes closing shut.

Simcoe's hand moved to splay flat against the back of Hewlett's neck, causing him to arch up a bit when Simcoe touched a sore spot.

"It must be difficult to remain so uptight like this all the time," Simcoe said sweetly as his hand pushed deeper, enticing another noncommittal noise from the Major. "Never letting go or giving into your own desires."

That's where you and I differ, Major."

His hand moved from Hewlett's neck onto his chest, a trail of blood marked his course, fingers flicking the top button of Hewlett's jacket.

"You let the world pass you by, a piece in the game, not a player."

"Where as I am skilled in procedure, cunning in any strategy, and willing to sacrifice, you," the button popped open, "are not."

Simcoe dug his hand inside Hewlett's jacket, his cravat had been untied without him realizing. Simcoe pulled the loosened fabric away as his hand continued its descent. His other hand now lay firmly on Hewlett's, a heavy weight to stifle any possible movement that the man might make.

After a languid moment, Simcoe's fingers latched onto his upper arm, using Hewlett's previous ploy against him as he yanked the man's arm off the floor, his other hand reached out to grab the knife before both their bodies came tumbling down to the floor beside the bed.

Their position from earlier now switched, with the knife looming over Hewlett's body. Simcoe slashed off the silver jacket buttons, the heavy fabric yielding around his blade, red cloth splayed open across the floor.

Hewlett attempted to push the beastly man off of him but it was hopeless.

"I wouldn't move if I were you," Simcoe warned.

Simcoe pouted when Hewlett didn't react to his threat, bringing the knife down to his chin, a perfect red incision from chin to stomach was carved out, white undershirt cut open in the process. His skin was exposed to the air, a tremble shuttered through his body.

"Hush now," Simcoe cooed, his hand now coming to rest on Hewlett's bare chest, knife softly flicking at the supple skin. He sighed.

"You have nice skin, Major," Simcoe mumbled, his hands gently rubbing up and down Hewlett's flank, underneath his clothing, thumbs rubbing little circles on his sides.

Blood worked its way into his finger nails as he trailed down Hewlett's chest, tracing the wound he just created. He stopped when he reached the man's hips, now pressing both hands to either side, nimbly massaging the area.

_What a peculiar form of torture_ , Hewlett thought. He was honestly so bewildered he didn't even try to resist. He had no idea what Simcoe had planned, if the man even had one at all, but knowing Simcoe, being familiar with his deceitful ways first hand, Hewlett knew everything the man did was done with intention.

Simcoe lowered his body, cheek resting lightly atop the blood on Hewlett's chest, feeling the subtle movement of the other's breath. Closing his eyes for a moment, Simcoe let the liquid soak his pores, his skin sliding easily across the slippery surface.

The knife was out of Hewlett's reach, seeing as he could barely move with Simcoe on top of him. His brain finally registered the pain that came with his earlier wounds. He was still healing from the injuries he received as captive, now his mind was in a frenzy as he felt every bruise and scar, old and new, that lingered on his body. He winced.

"Shhh," came Simcoe's muffled voice as he tried to comfort the ailing man underneath him. Hewlett coughed. How strange this all was.

Simcoe moved back up towards Hewlett's shoulders, his dressing gown absorbed the layer of blood encrusted on Hewlett's chest, hands positioned in a frame around the Major's face. He placed his dirtied cheek against Hewlett's wounded one, and Hewlett felt his cut sting under the added pressure.

Hewlett turned his face to the side, allowing Simcoe to deepen his awkward caress. He could try and move, try to shove Simcoe off him, but he didn't. There was something about this, this encounter, this moment, that made Hewlett feel uneasy, as if were contemplating crossing the River Rubicon. An irrevocable step, a crucial calculation, his life at stake, and if he acted in the wrong manner, there would be no turning back. He just remained as he was, hoping that was what Simcoe wanted.

Simcoe's hand had come up to the other side of Hewlett's face, gently wrapping his long fingers around the skin in a crude embrace. He pushed Hewlett's face back to its original position, causing Hewlett's mind to return to the situation at hand.

Hewlett turned back, following Simcoe's touch, his mouth was ajar in an attempt to speak, to protest, to say anything, before Simcoe captured his open lips.

Hewlett froze. Of all the situations he imagined being in with Simcoe, this was certainly not one of them. What was he to do? He knew Simcoe's long arms could reach the knife faster than he could if he tried to move.

Simcoe's hands came up to worm underneath Hewlett's wig, blindly searching for the pins binding it still. He ripped the thing off, hands now running through the back of Hewlett's cropped hair.

He shut his eyes, mind recalling a kiss from not so long ago. A kiss which he had so desperately dreamt of for months. Hewlett's mouth wasn't so different from Anna's. Both so soft and delicate, exquisite even, yes, he could concede that the Major was entirely too polished for his own good. But right now, it wasn't such a bad thing.

Hewlett's body trembled again, a frightful moan escaped from his captured mouth. The Captain kissed for a breath longer before he released the other man, hands still holding him firm.

He looked at the small man below him with calculating eyes, taking in the subtle curves of his marred face.

He kissed him again. Lips soft.

Hewlett kissed back, he didn't know why. Timidly at first, his head trying to lift up to match the other's force. It was clumsy and raw and everything one would expect from Simcoe. They broke apart, Hewlett's head falling down into the hand wrapped around his head. His brows turned down, unsure of what was going on, unsure if he just made the worst mistake of his life, if he had blindly allowed himself to fall into Simcoe's trap, a trap in which he was severely unacquainted with.

A pause. They held each other's gaze.

"Were you thinking of her?" Simcoe whispered as he stroked Hewlett's ear sensually.

"Have you ever even held her?

Kissed her?

Loved her with the passion in which you hate?"

Hewlett scoffed, licking his lips absentmindedly. "I haven't exactly been presented with the opportune chance to," he said under his breath.

"Well maybe you should. Just do it. Give into impulse. Take what you want for once."

"Why are you bothering to lecture me now?" Hewlett said, eyes narrowing.

Simcoe looked away for a second before his eyes returned to Hewlett.

"Major, I'm terribly sorry to disappoint, but I don't think you are her type."

Hewlett ignored the fact that Simcoe had just changed the subject, deciding to play along with the Captain.

"Oh, and you believe you are?"

"A man can never quite know can he?"

A few more seconds passed in silence. Hewlett's head was pounding from the physical pain and metal exhaustion Simcoe was causing him, not to mention the perverse act the man had just committed upon his person.

Hewlett shook his head, which was a rather difficult movement to attempt seeing as he was practically cemented to the floor under Simcoe's touch.

Simcoe smirked, a thumb coming up the brush at the layer of crusted blood drying on Hewlett's forehead.

"If I cannot have what I so dearly want, which you will surely prevent me from as well, and you cannot obtain what you want, seeing as our Mrs. Strong is still legally bound to her traitorous husband, I bring to you a proposal. "

He pressed his hips into Hewlett's, causing the man to gasp as his body reacted to the intense heat now directly on top of his extremities.

Simcoe's smirk widened. Feeling brass, he grinded slowly into Hewlett, allowing for his hips to pick up a soft, rhythmic pattern. One hand came down to stroke Hewlett's chest, thumb flicking softly at a chafed nipple, exposing the pink flesh to the cool air and covering it in blood.

Hewlett's body responded accordingly, back arching up slightly, involuntarily pushing himself further into Simcoe, the pressure between his legs heightening.

Simcoe muttered something inaudible, hand tracing the fine hairs on the Major's stomach as it trailed downward, pants strings pulled undone, hand sliding between his legs, teasing his thighs.

Hewlett muffled a moan with his fist, the tantalizingly sensation was too much, too intense, and he wasn't used to it at all.

After a few minutes, Simcoe finally rubbed the cloth covering Hewlett's hardness, his touch tender through the fabric before he lowered himself to his knees, pulling the restricting clothing down out of the way. He braced his hands flat against Hewlett's thighs, stab wound from earlier tingling unpleasantly with the effort, the sensation working rather to encourage him on with his misdeeds.

Hewlett closed his eyes, his head tilted back up against the floor.

"I believe a compromise may be in our reach," Simcoe muttered before his mouth closed around the sensitive flesh. Hewlett held back a shout, body reacting to the unexpected wetness.

Hands came to his hips in to steady him down, keeping him still as he tried to trust into the warm heat.

Simcoe's hands were rough, crusty nails digging into his sides, puncturing his skin, probably leaving more wounds in their wake. His mouth was brutal, sucking hard on Hewlett's dick.

The act itself was not kind or languid. It was passion and want in a physical manifestation. Everything Hewlett was against.

_Damn Simcoe_ , he thought, all other coherent thoughts suddenly swept from his mind as Simcoe took him in fully, hand coming down to fondle with his balls.

Hewlett closed his eyes, not wanting to see what he was engaging in first hand, to see Simcoe's head bobbing up and down on top of him would make it all too real. He kept his eyes closed tight, grinding his teeth, willing himself to be quiet, but it was difficult.

He sighed, half from pleasure, half from longing. He wished it was Anna who took him like this. Her soft hands and gentle words would embrace him, prepare him, steady him. It would be caring and considerate with Anna, her dark hair would tickle his skin as he caressed the wayward strands. She was smooth where Simcoe was coarse, courteous while he was practically insane. But when he was looking at nothing save for the darkness behind his eyelids, he could image it was her body below him. It may never happen, he thought, she might not really be interested in him, he couldn't tell however, so blinded as he was around her, captivated just standing near her.

His mind became too lucid to concentrate on any other thoughts as Simcoe sucked harder, tongue swirling around his tip, teeth nipping at his foreskin.

He felt the pressure, the heat, building up in his stomach. He clenched his hands into fists at his side. He didn't know what to do next.

Simcoe, however, seemed to know exactly what he was doing. His lips moved off Hewlett's dick with a popping sound. He twisted around to grab the knife again and in a quick motion, he made a deep cut into a particularly fleshy part of Hewlett's leg.

Blood spewed out fast and Simcoe lathered his fingers in the substance. He spared a glance at Hewlett who was wincing from the sudden stabbing he just received.

"Shh, it's quiet alright, Major," Simcoe murmured. "Hush now. This doesn't have to hurt."

He pressed his lips to the wound, kissing it softly, tongue poking out to lap up the spilled blood. When he moved his head away, Hewlett cringed at the unnatural crimson hue of the man's lips.

Simcoe met Hewlett's eyes now, a subtle smile graced his bloodstained lips which soon turned into a full grin, thoroughly creeping Hewlett the hell out. Simcoe's beady eyes narrowed a bit as he raised an eyebrow, asking a question through the expression. Hewlett just started.

He had decided while Simcoe was sucking him off, that relinquishing himself into Simcoe's care was the best course of action to take. The thought disturbed him, of course it did, for he never would have believed he would associate Simcoe with the archetype of a caring man, but he wasn't in his right mind at the moment and it seemed to be best, and only move he could make that wouldn't immediately get him killed.

Simcoe continued to stare as his bloody hand stroked Hewlett again, and Hewlett blanched because that was frankly disgusting and probably highly unsanitary. Simcoe slowed to a stop, bringing his fingers down to Hewlett's entrance.

He nudged at the hole a little, sparing one last glance at Hewlett's clouded eyes before sliding a finger inside, twisting it around ever so slightly.

Hewlett moaned out loud, making no attempt to hide the sound. There was no mistaking the cause of his arousal. He would like to pretend it was just his body reacting to the stimulating touch. A natural reaction, instinctive and primitive, the same from every man in a situation such as this. But it was more than the body's innate reaction. With Simcoe, there was want and desire, it was passion in bloom. These emotions were not faked, could not be. Hewlett wasn't one to profess his emotions on a whim, fear too often kept him guarded. With Simcoe, there was no fear. The man could kill him any moment, if not tonight, then tomorrow, take him by surprise, slit his throat in the dead of night. No one would be the wiser. Yet, Hewlett knew, and he believed Simcoe shared the same sentiment, that what they had was personal. It was intimate and it was strong. And Hewlett admitted to himself that he would not be able to experience these same sensations with anyone whom he didn't share such a connection with as he did with Simcoe, no matter how repulsive the thought was.

Once Simcoe was content with his preparation, he squeezed a second finger in to join the first.

Hewlett tried not to think about it anymore, thankful that he couldn't see what immoral action Simcoe engaging him in. It was better with his eyes closed, although he didn't like the thought, he admitted to himself that Simcoe's touch was vulgar and erotic all at once. He didn't think as he thrust his body harder, Simcoe's other hand back on his dick, elbow forcing his pelvis to stay down.

Hewlett bit his fist as Simcoe brushed up upon a particularly sensitive spot within him, teeth sinking deep into his flesh, the metallic tinge of blood filled his mouth and he wondered for a moment if his blood tasted the same to Simcoe's tongue.

Simcoe's fingered him hard, hitting that same spot repeatedly in a lewd manner. Hewlett whimpered softly. It was too much, the sensation building up inside him threatened to overtake his senses, he wasn't going to last.  
His whole body twitched, release coming in fast and uncontrollably. It was embarrassing and awkward and indecent and utterly salacious in a way he never experienced before.

The evidence of Hewlett's moment of weakness was spilled over his abdomen, forming a new layer atop the dried blood. He felt dirty and sordid, like a wash cloth that fell in a pile of shit. He was disgusted and entirely relaxed.

He lay there for a few moments longer, not sure if Simcoe was still hovering below him, but his body felt so lethargic and he didn't want to move.He knew he was going to be unbearably sore all over tomorrow.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Simcoe leaning against the bed. He had produced a rag from somewhere and was wiping the blade of his knife thoroughly as he looked down at Hewlett's wasted body.

"I would suggest you get a move on, Major. Wouldn't want to be caught returning to Whitehall at such a late hour, people may be suspicious as to your whereabouts." He spoke as if nothing had just transpired between them, it would have been slightly unnerving if it wasn't Simcoe.

"Ah, right, of course, you are right," Hewlett stuttered, hands pressing down into the floor in an attempt to ground his dizzy head.

"Of course, Major. I have a keen interest in looking out for my superiors."

Hewlett awkwardly rose, legs feeling shaky. He reached for the cloth Simcoe was just using, deciding to at least make an attempt, no matter how dismal, of cleaning himself. Simcoe just watched him, it was rather bizarre but Hewlett ignored him.

After he made a mediocre attempt at attending to his wounds, figuring he looked at least vaguely appropriate, he turned to Simcoe.

"I will consider your proposal, Captain. The logistics of your provisions may require amending, but-" he paused, scanning Simcoe once over, just now noticing the man was still hard and had made no attempt to hide nor remedy it.

He swallowed, "but, I believe an agreement may be within our reach."

"I look forward to future negotiations, Major," Simcoe clipped, bowing his head gracefully.

"Right," Hewlett muttered as he returned the bow.

And with that, the Major exited the room, praying to a higher order no one would be around to see him. The door closed shut behind him, Simcoe still stood in the same spot, a shameless smirk spread over his features as he prepared himself for whatever would await him in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it to the end of this, I just have to say, I am so sorry.


End file.
